Bloodletting and Heroin

The limbs protruded from the wet earth like stakes waiting to impel the bodies I saw fall from the gray sky. The bodies of angels whose wings I burnt. I knew those faces vaguely, thought they are disfigured now. There are so many thoughts I have that I don’t want to be lost. I lament for such intangible things. Thoughts...

At the foot of the spiky trees, the water looks like that old blood that sat in the sun, brown like the Red River we crossed miles back.

I saw hooks sticking of the side of a chemical truck and I could swear I saw bodies hanging like butchered cattle on meat hooks being dragged along like streamers from my old pink bicycle.

I am afraid those nights are going to haunt me until I die.

The road to New Orleans

The night was hot and sticky, the stars were out, and there was a full moon. It was August

We had left with the clothes on our backs, a little money in our pocket and heroin in our veins. We sang along with “Bloodletting”

The entire way, Fields of the Nephlilim, Concrete Blonde and Type O was our soundtrack to destruction.

I was almost dawn; I’d been driving all night in a fog that never seemed to end. It was like a movie, you know, where someone would be caught in-between life and death.

The only way I know that didn't happen to me because I wasn't alone and I saw the occasional 18-wheeler pass by.

The strange sun began to rise form the east, lighting the drab scenery on our way. Funny, the things you think of when everything is quiet and our mind is reeling from the opium that’s in your heart. All I could do is think of how pretty everything looked at dawn. How peaceful it all seemed thought peace far from what we were feeling the last couple of weeks, more fear than anything.

By seven A.M., we’d made it to New Orleans. The both of us were tired and uneasy, as we looked for somewhere to park the car so we could rest. There wasn’t enough money between us to for a hotel room. Hell, we didn’t have enough money to eat. “What is the point in eating” Lydia said, “We’re just going to throw it up anyway. I found a crappy hotel parking lot to stay in for now. I stretched out in the front seat, Lydia in the back, in hopes of sleeping awhile. Despite the fact, she was in a heroin-induced coma the entire way here.

Everything felt different I thought to myself as I began to drift off, something was about to change. I could feel it coming. It was death and I welcomed it with opened arms. I wanted this to be over, I wanted the dream and highs, I thought as I closed my eyes and let the voices from Sumerland carry me away.

To my dismay, I awoke that night at around eight. I groaned as I set up and looked over the seat. Lydia was sitting there staring out the window smoking a cigarette. I heard her sigh and say” This is going to be our last night alive, I know it is.” I could only shack my head. I know she was right. Finally after a long silence I spoke up, “Well, we have enough heroin to end ourselves the classic rock star way”. I was determined at this point to romanticize the fuck out of this, for Lydia’s sake. I could tell by the look in her eyes she wasn’t ready for this, so I thought I’d make it sound as appealing as I could. “Think Jim huh, Cyn.”

“Yeah, Jim or Janis if you want.” I whispered.

“I know you rather Jim, you always have Cynthia.”

I smiled, she was right, and this was it. “Let’s live it up, go out in style”

“Let’s do it”

So we cleaned up and hit the first “legendary” Goth club we found. The night would begin with a needle in our veins and it would end the same. Lydia hated needle ironically, so she liked me to inject it for her. When we finished shooting, we sat for a little while in the parking lot a block from the club letting our eyes adjust to the chemicals in our bodies. The lights looked brighter, the sounds more clear, and the world beautiful.

We walked to club, where is was small, loud, and full of debauchee’s. Everyone was so pretty, made up like Ziggy Stardust and Robert Smith’s illegitimate children. Black hair, pale skin, eyeliner, and leather everywhere. Then the D.J. put on “Bloodletting” by Concrete Blonde and the club went wild in a whirl of debauchery and androgyny. From then on, we danced the night away in a maelstrom of sweat and neon lights.

It was late and we decided it was time to shot up again, so we headed to the bathroom to do so. When we came out I noticed a man, I wasn’t sure if he was staring at me or not, but he seemed to be. However, it was dark and I was extremely paranoid. Drugs will do that to you, and being a murderer too, I guess. He reminded me of a mixture between Carl McCoy and Ian Ashbury. He was a picture of grace as he stood there with his friends casually talking.

Lydia said she was tired and I was delusional.

“You want to go walking?” I asked

“Yeah, let’s see what there is to this town” she laughed.

We perambulated about the quarter until we found a small café in the alley in Jackson’s Square. The city was whirling and alive, with lights and noise. It smelled like the fair and incense.

The café was quiet and nice; we sat there for a while. Then the bartender made us leave because we could by a drink. So we wondered over to the church in the center of the square and walked in. I sat down on a bench at the back of the church and Lydia joined me. We didn’t know what to do next. I think in the back of our mind we knew we didn’t want to die in the back seat of a car like so junkie so we just sat there in silence. I was beautiful here inside this historic building. It was empty because of the hour; everyone had retired for the night. I didn’t think it would be open to the public as it was.

“What’s next?”

“I don’t know, Cyn”

“Are you ready too…?” Lydia cut me off.

“No, not yet”

“Me nether. I don’t want to die in the back of that damn car; I wish we could do it here.”

“Yeah, that would be different”

“Lydia, We are procrastinating, you know”

“Yeah well, do you blame me?”

“No.”

Just then, the man from the club, the one that looked at me walked in and quickly headed straight for the altar. He had on a dusty long black trench coat blowing behind him and long black hair under a large dirty hat. Lydia and I froze; watching him suddenly turned and come toward us. His eyes were dead on us. We were too scared to move, to enthrall by him. Then he stood in front of us and I could finally see his face from under the mass of hair and hat. His skin was pale and his thin lips matched; and his eyes large and soft and brown that didn’t match his harsh clothing.

He looked at us and said, “I know”